


For Queen.

by x_art



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, post Skyfall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:53:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_art/pseuds/x_art
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’d have her due as would his other ghost, no doubt sometime later on when he was in his own bed, on the edge of sleep. The present, as always, was his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Queen.

 

 

 

For God.

 

He glanced around the corner, then ducked back just as the bullet took out a chunk of brick and mortar. Paulson's aim was high and James blinked away the dust that drifted down while he did a mental calculation of distance, wind velocity and sheer bloody luck.

And then he twisted, aimed, and fired.

The shot was clean. Paulson gasped as if in complete surprise, took a step forward, then fell face first onto the ice. He hit with a rather emphatic thud and James thought, _‘Well, if he’s not dead, that had to hurt.’_

He waited, the space of a heartbeat, then left the safety of the outbuilding and cautiously went to retrieve what he'd came for.

Paulson was dead, shot neatly in the right temple. James turned him over and the heat vapor from his body drifted and waved in an almost graceful, hypnotic dance. Which was a humorous, considering Paulson had been anything but graceful. Or hypnotic.

He snorted and retrieved the business card from Paulson’s pocket. It wasn’t anything special as far as he could see—just a card announcing _Martin Paulson, Systems Analyst, London._ There was no code or microdot or whatever it was that Q insisted was there.

He pushed to his feet, ignoring the ache in his knee and tapped the earbud. “You were saying?”

“I was _saying,_ ” Mallory answered tersely, “that this comm system is state-of-the-art and you don’t need to keep turning it on and off.”

“Oh.” He tucked the card away and began to make his way back to the car. “I thought you said the complete opposite.” He waited for Mallory to growl a response but he said nothing. Which was a shame—he was beginning to enjoy their exchanges. He found Mallory to be restrained bordering on unemotional, but he could be got to, if the right amount of pressure was applied. Completely unlike his last boss.

The pain, that ache in his heart that never seemed too far away, gave a little twinge as if saying, _‘What? You think I gave up so quickly? It’s only been three months.’_

He jammed the ache back into its cold resting place and said, “Do you want to know when I’ve retrieved the card?”

“You’ve already got it. You’re about ten meters from your car. I suggest getting in and starting the engine quickly. Your heat signature is on the blue side.”

Damn. “This was a lot more fun when you didn’t know my every move.” There was a dull ping on the other end of the comm as if someone were tapping on a fish tank.

“I imagine so,” Mallory said dryly. “The cleaners are on the way. Your contact is waiting for you in Malmö.”

He’d reached the car and he cocked his head. Yes, he could the faint sound of an engine coming from the south. “Is Agent Moneypenny among them?”

“She is not. She is sitting in the next office, transcribing my last meeting with the Minister.”

He shook his head and climbed into the car. “What a waste.”

“I know you’re one for the ladies, Bond, but she can’t always be at your beck and call.”

He paused, one hand on the car key. “I only meant it’s a waste of a good field agent.”

“Oh. Yes. Right.”

He smiled at Mallory’s chastened tone and turned the key. The engine sputtered, then turned over. “I’ll be in Malmö in an hour.”

There was no answer for a moment and then Mallory said an absent, “Fine.”

“What’s wrong?” He could hear the dull taps again, this time louder. “What _is_ that?”

“Oh. It’s my watch. It seems to be losing time.”

“And tapping the crystal helps, does it?”

There was another pause before Mallory answered coolly, “I’ll expect you in this office tonight. Eight p.m. Sharp.”

James grinned. “Yes, sir.” He turned off the earwig just to irritate Mallory, then put the car in gear and navigated around the old stone barn and on through the yard. He peered up at the sky as he drove away from the farm. He loved Sweden’s clean sweeping landscapes, its nightlife and accompanying blonds, but he was very tired of the cold. It would be good to be back home, if only for a little while.

He passed the cleaners as he pulled onto the motorway. He and the driver shared a brief nod and that was that.

 

 

For Queen.

 

Doubt, in his line of work, was deadly. It caused all sorts of accidents and generally led to one making unfortunate decisions. In the past he’d never let doubt, or any outside force, dictate his movements and reactions. But doubt coupled with boredom was a dangerous combination and the inevitable was the inevitable.

 _Case in point,_ he thought as Barton made his move.

“Bond?” Mallory breathed into the earpiece.

He raised his glass and murmured against the rim, “He’s just made the exchange.”

Mallory sighed. “Damn him.”

“Yes.”

“Well, you know the drill.”

“I do indeed.”

He waited until Barton shouldered the messenger bag full of cash and was out the door before slipping up off the stool. He threw a couple euros onto the countertop and followed.

Outside, the air was hot and humid even though it was almost midnight. A young woman was sitting with her friends in the cafe next door and she met his eye and gave him a speaking look. He smiled and returned a universal, _‘You’re very attractive but I’ve somewhere to be,’_ nod and hurried up the street.

He caught up with Barton at the next corner. “Sir?”

“Yes?” Mallory murmured.

“He’s getting in a cab.”

“So, he’s not returning to his flat.”

It wasn't a question, but James answered anyway. “No.”

“You were right; he’s not only betraying his country, he's also running out on his family.” Mallory sighed again, this time more heavily. “No matter. Keneally and Ramirez are at the airport. They’ll handle it from there.”

Q spoke for the first time. “You’re not going to take him into custody immediately? He’s been living a double life _and_ he just sold classified data to a known criminal.”

“He just sold _falsified_ classified data,” Mallory answered. “And I don’t want to cause an incident when there’s no need.”

“Yes, but sir—”

"If we take him now, any of Barton's crew might see. And that might endanger his family. We'll wait until Barton is at the airport and then collect him."

"But, sir—"

“Q?” Mallory interrupted. “I need to speak with Bond privately. Please disconnect.”

Q hesitated, then muttered, “Yes, sir.”

Mallory waited, murmuring as if to himself, “I think he’s gone but I can never be sure.”

James smiled. “Do you want to ring back? I can put the kettle on.”

It was said facetiously but Mallory didn’t rise to the occasion. “I have some housekeeping matters to attend to, Bond, and we might as well get them over with.”

The cab was long gone and he stepped from his hiding place. "Such as?"

“I wanted to inform you of the results of your latest physical exams.”

He raised an eyebrow, taken aback. Mallory tended to keep on point and this was hardly the time for an employee evaluation. And then he realized the reason for the break in protocol and he wanted to smile. Who would have imagined that Mallory could be so thoughtful? “Don’t tell me—I failed everything and am being summarily dismissed.”

“Hardly. You passed with the proverbial flying colors except in one area.”

He’d known his marks had improved, but… “And that would be?”

“Firearms. You’re still pulling to the right.”

It stung a little, not that he'd ever say that to Mallory. “I’ll work on it.”

“Please do.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes. Monroe is on the trail of Barton’s buyer—we’ll see where that leads, but I’m sure you’re right. It's probably a local wanting to get one over on a rival.”

James glanced down the street. Barton’s flat was the second from the corner and two floors up. There was a light in the window and it was only his imagination, the notion that he could see a shadow move behind the curtains. “Shame,” he murmured thoughtfully.

Mallory didn't have to ask what he was talking about. “Yes. The end to a promising career is always a hard thing to witness.”

The sympathy in Mallory’s voice was unexpected and James wondered how many times he’d been on hand to see the results of an agent’s greed. He turned around and headed back to the bar, needing action to shake off the somber mood. “How’s your watch? Fixed it yet?”

“No. And thank you for asking.”

“I live to serve.”

He was still smiling when Mallory disconnected.

 

 

For Country.

 

“I said,” Q raised his voice, “that you needn’t bother. I’ve already downloaded the data.”

He knew that. He had, in fact, already retrieved the receipt and trashed it. But Q was an easy mark and he couldn't help his mild, “That was fast.” He quickened his pace just in time to make the crossing.

As expected, Q huffed, “You do know what century we’re living in, don’t you?”

He edged around a woman so engrossed in her mobile conversation that she actually stopped walking in the middle of the crossroads. Which would be fine if she were on Gleann Comhann, Scotland but not so much East 57th, New York City. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“Better yet,” Q said, ignoring James’s dig. “Why don’t you get your laptop and open up that tutorial I sent you _four weeks ago_ and learn how to use our secure dropbox.”

James rolled his eyes and took the corner of 5th and slowed to a stroll. “I’ll get right on it.”

“Bond,” Mallory rebuked softly.

James smiled. “I was wondering who that heavy breathing belonged to." There was a pop of static—probably Q going off to do whatever it was he did. "I was hoping it was Agent Moneypenny.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

 _I’ll bet you are._ He stopped in front of Tiffany’s. “So we’re done?”

“I’ve another assignment for you, but we’re still gathering intel, so yes, we’re done.”

He leaned closer to the window. There was a series of tall, velvet-covered posts and on top of each was a display of jewelry. The one on the left showcased a beautiful sapphire necklace and earrings, the one on the right, a bracelet that was encrusted with a year’s salary worth of diamonds. The center display held a quintet of wristwatches.

“Are you there?”

He narrowed his eyes against the glare. The watches were gaudy, not something he would go in for except for the one on the left. “You know I am.”

“Then enjoy New York. If you see our friend from Langley, please pass on my thanks for his help.”

James turned his head slightly, using the window’s reflection as a mirror and yes, Felix was on the other side of the street, leaning against a lamppost. “I will.”

“And before you ask, my watch is fine. It’s at the watchmaker’s.”

“That’s good to know.”

“M out.”

James tapped the earwig, then hesitated. Felix was still lounging against the post, but he was staring straight at James, waiting while he finished his business so they could accidentally meet at the pub two streets over.

He returned to the watches.

The one on left, the least showy of the five was made of stainless steel. It had an alligator strap, a chronograph, and was water-resistant to 100 meters. It was the kind of watch that clearly stated its cost boldly and without shame. The kind of watch a civil servant, no matter how highly placed, would want to wear.

He smirked, just barely, then straightened and turned, nodding to Felix as he headed towards 58th.

***

Using jetlag as an excuse, he left Felix and the pub a little before seven. He paused on the pavement and looked around.

The evening was just getting started and people were wandering here and there, mostly couples.

He tucked his hands in his pockets, intent on returning to the hotel when something—maybe the crisp night or the aimlessness he felt between jobs—made him take a right instead of left.

He ended up in front of Tiffany’s again only this time he didn’t window-shop—he strode along the pavement to the door. A little too late it seemed—a woman, mid-forties, beautifully dressed, had just finished locking the outer door. He tapped on the glass and when she turned, he nodded to the lock. She shook her head.

He could, of course, wait until morning. He could even make his purchase back home—London had its share of Tiffany shops. But he wanted it  _now_ and was used to getting his way. He cocked his head and smiled. After a moment, long, but not too long, the woman visibly caved. She shook her head with a smile and unlocked the door.

 

 

For M.

 

Bored, bored, bored.

And wondering what the hell Mallory thought he was doing, ordering in the senior agents—including the Double Os—for a supply and appropriations meeting?

What did he care if the budget allowed for this or that operation? If a job needed to be done, it needed to be done and hang the cost.

He must have made some noise, faint to almost every ear in the room but Mallory’s—he looked over and without making an overt gesture or expression, managed to tell James how much he disapproved of levity and mockery.

James didn’t quite roll his eyes but Mallory’s bland gaze hardened to a censuring glare.

Much later, when he was back in his flat and had time to think, he blamed his response on the fact that they were in government chambers, and formality fused with the pencil-pusher mentality always brought out the worst in him. Because when Mallory didn't look away, James winked at him. Not a drawn out, flirtatious wink, but a wink nonetheless.

Mallory raised a smooth eyebrow and just as smoothly, returned to the proceedings as if nothing had happened.

Hmm.

***

He shifted his stance, putting his weight on his left foot and tried again. And then again.

And, damn, he didn’t have to examine the target to see that he was still off by a good inch.

He pulled off the earmuffs with a dissatisfied grunt and let them hang on his neck.

“Still off?”

He didn’t turn around. “That’s a good way to get shot.”

“You knew I was here.”

He didn’t bother to answer because, yes, he’d known when Mallory had joined him, had _felt_ him stop at the threshold. “Do you need something?”

“Just want to make sure you’ve everything _you_ need.”

“Q’s set me up. I’m fine.”

“Good.”

He waited and when Mallory didn’t speak, he cocked his head. “I’ll get back to it, shall I?”

Still, Mallory didn’t say anything and James finally turned.

Mallory was leaning against the brick doorjamb, hands in his pockets. He’d taken off his jacket and tie, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He was staring at James, a singularly odd look as if they were miles apart instead a rough twelve feet.

James absently flicked the safety on the Glock. “Well?”

Mallory shook his head and murmured, “She was right.”

There was only one ‘she’ that Mallory could be referring to and James stiffened.

“About?”

“You. You’re so prickly.”

He half smiled, half frowned. “M said I was prickly?”

If Mallory was pissed that James was still calling M, well, _M,_ he gave no sign. “No, she said you were damnably stubborn, exasperating and a pain in her ass. For economy’s sake, I’m going with prickly. But,” he added with a shrug. “I suppose you have your reasons.”

James frowned, wondering what that meant and then he knew. He smiled coldly. “Yes. Well, we all have those, don’t we? Reasons?”

Mallory shrugged again.

And that was the crux of it, really, because other than the dossier he’d stolen out of Records, he knew little more about Mallory than what M had told him. He knew of Mallory’s time in the regular army and then his rise to the SAS. But that was all. And it was beginning to bother him. Unknown quantities were a danger in more ways than one.

“What will it take?”

It was Mallory’s turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

“You spoke of reasons. When are you going to tell me why you left the SAS. I'd like to know.”

Without answering, Mallory pushed away from the wall and turned to go. But he stopped, just in the shadows of the arched doorway and said over his shoulder, “Oh, and James?”

“Yes?”

“About that wink… Do you know the Russian quote, _‘Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence and —_ ”

“Yes,” James interrupted, feeling as if the air had thickened a bit. “I know it.”

Mallory smiled, this time a startlingly charming, very direct smile. “Then you also know the other adage, _‘Be careful what you wish for_.’” He winked, then walked away, disappearing into the dark corridor.

James watched him go, a little bemused, a lot aroused. After a moment, he grinned, touched the heavy lump in his breast pocket and turned on his heel until he was facing the target again.

He aimed and fired, three times in a row, hitting center mass each time.

Good.

***

It was easy. He waited until ten, until everyone had gone, then went upstairs and broke into Mallory’s office. He didn’t bother with the computer but made for the wall safe behind a row of operational manuals. He pushed them aside and then paused, fingers on the keypad. The last time he’d broken in, M had been furious and had threatened him with expulsion if he did it again.

The memory dampened the moment but he shrugged it away. She’d have her due as would his other ghost, no doubt sometime later on when he was in his own bed, on the edge of sleep. The present, as always, was his.

With a renewed sense of glee, he tapped the code and the light flashed green. He thanked Mallory for his oversight in forgetting to change the code, then he was in.

He had approximately fifty-five seconds before security stormed the floor and he wasted no time. Using a sheaf of Mallory’s own notepaper, he wrote: _‘M, in case the watchmaker fails,’_ then pulled the watch out of his pocket.

It gleamed dully in the faint light as he placed it in the safe, on top of the note and a thin file folder. He hesitated, fingers itching to know what was in the folder, but no, he hadn't the time. He’d find out the old-fashioned way through roundabout persuasion, or—when that didn’t work—through straightforward seduction.

He shut the safe door, making sure to leave clear fingerprints on the handle and the casing, then straightened up and left.

He used the north stairwell and had just made it to the floor below when he heard pounding footsteps and shouts. He grinned, fixed his cuffs, and calmly clattered down the stairs, murmuring cheerfully, _“Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Third time is enemy action.”_

 

 

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Tarlan for catching the bits I missed.


End file.
